Finding Home
by AminalLuv
Summary: Once she knew that her whole “wide open future” idea was out the window, she could go back to the over-analyzed, unambiguous way things used to be. So why was it so hard?
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** **I started this many moons ago and posted it under a different pen name. Apparently that wasn't a good idea because I kind of forgot about it. I've rediscovered it however and am currently working on chapter 3 (and have made some headway on the next chapter of TaB and the next and final chapter of WHiV) Anyhow, I decided I'd post chapters 1 and 2 of this story under this name. If you don't remember it, or haven't read it before, enjoy these chapters, and I hope to have the next one up hopefully this weekend.**

* * *

It was hot. The decrepit air conditioner that cooled the motel room couldn't muster enough power to make a single, luke warm breeze cross over the threshold of the bathroom. Rory didn't care; in fact she preferred it that way. The stifling heat was almost a distraction. When she felt like she couldn't breath, she blamed it on the thick, water-logged air. When she felt the beads of moisture roll down her cheeks, she could brush it off as just another droplet of sweat. After all, she was covered in plenty of sweat. The thin cotton material of the t-shirt and shorts she wore to bed were drenched with it. The bare skin of her thighs were so sticky with it, she wasn't sure she would be able to detach herself from the peeling brown and tan linoleum floor without leaving a rash. In fact, that seemed like as good an excuse as any to stay right where she was and avoid the true reality of her situation for a few minutes more.

And then another wave of nausea hit. She lurched herself quickly onto her knees, as expected feeling the sting of the floor ripping away from her delicate flesh as though she had just removed the world's largest band-aid. She didn't have time to think about the pain of her legs as the contents of her stomach spilled out into the ugly, yellow, porcelin toilet bowl. When she was sure this latest spell had passed, she reached for a wad of toilet paper and wiped the remnants off of her face. She didn't usually get sick this late at night; perhaps it was just nerves. Perhaps all of the other episodes had really just been some stomach bug. After all, it wasn't morning sickness—not until she saw the plus sign and the little pink dot on the two plastic wands resting innocently on the sink to her left. Until she saw proof, she refused to accept the truth that seemed all too obvious to anyone willing to see.

At first she had honestly not even considered the possibility that she could be pregnant. She had left home one week after her graduation—a week after her break-up with Logan—to report on Barack Obama's presidential campaign. She had packed her clothes and her toiletries and her computer, but she had not packed the little, tan, plastic container of pills she usually took every day. It wasn't like she would be needing them. Logan had left her when she had been unable to jump into a marriage with him. Family planning was hardly a concern after that. Taking her birth control only seemed to remind her of the fact that she would never be with Logan again; that they would never have the opportunity to decide to stop taking birth control for an entirely different reason. She would never have a family with Logan Huntzberger, and she was still trying to decide if it was her fault or his. So when she was a few days late for her period, it was easy to brush it off as being caused by the sudden lack of hormonal influence. And when she was a week late, she had simply accepted that the stress and poor diet associated with being on the road all the time had thrown her cycle off kilter. But now it was two weeks and the presumed morning sickness had begun, her breasts felt tender and she was hungry all the time—at least when she wasn't nauseous—and the reason behind all of it was becoming increasingly clear.

So she had stopped at a drug store that morning and made the purchases that would inform her that her entire life was about to completely change, so soon after it had only just seemed to begin. Then, when her roommate had left for one of her freakishly long runs—it was like living with Janet all over again—she had snuck the tests out of her bag and gone to the bathroom to confirm what her heart already knew and her head refused to believe.

She was pregnant.

She knew that's what the tests said, so why was it so hard to look at them? At least once her fears had been verified she could begin doing what she did best—planning. Once this step was over she could figure out the next one, and the one after that. Once she knew that her whole "wide open future" idea was out the window, she could go back to the over-analyzed, unambiguous way things used to be. So why was it so hard to look at those tests?

She peaked back at the phone that was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room next to where she had been sitting a moment ago and she knew the answer. Her mind flitted back over all of the scenarios that she had imagined up over the last half hour of waiting. She pictured every possible outcome of the phone call that awaited her. In one scenario—her favorite—he was absolutely elated. He confessed how much he loved her and how stupid he felt for giving her the "all or nothing" ultimatum at her graduation. He told her that he would come back to Connecticut and they could be together to start their new family and he let her know that he still wanted to marry her whenever she was ready, whether that was tomorrow, or ten years from now. In another one of her day dreams, he was cold and heartless. He told her that she had ruined his life and he wanted nothing to do with her _or_ their child and then he had simply hung up on her. While she knew that the true reaction would be somewhere in the middle, the worst scenario of all had been the one where she realized she had no excuse to call him up at all.

Because the truth was, with every day that passed from the date of her missed period, she had started thinking of what it would be like to tell him she was carrying their child and no matter what images passed through her head, the thought of just hearing his voice, even if it was only one more time, was one of the few things that managed to bring a smile to her face. She missed him. She missed him more than she had ever missed any other person in the entirety of her existence. So maybe, just maybe, a part of her saw this potential child as their savoir. The thing that would repair what they had broken. And if she was wrong; if there was no child, then he would truly be gone and she would be as alone and empty as she felt.

She flushed the toilet and stood up, feeling the strain in her legs from over forty minutes of sitting. She squeezed her eyes shut as she reached out for the sink and grabbed the first of the two sticks she touched, bringing it up to her face. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the city streets held Logan's attention. There were so many different people roaming San Francisco. Logan had spent most of his nights over the past week sitting at this outdoor café and people-watching until the sun went down. As each person walked by, he found himself imagining all of the possibilities their life held, and by extension all of the possibilities his own life held. What friends did they have? Where did they live? What did they do in their spare time? Rory had been right—life was wide open. If she could embrace that fact then so could he.

It hadn't been easy at first—in fact it still wasn't easy. When he had first moved to California he had set up shop in the little house with the avocado tree that he had found for him and Rory. He went to work where he threw himself into all of the challenges and rewards his new occupation afforded him. He stayed at the office as long as he could to avoid his own home, and when he finally made it back to the house, he turned all of the lights off and crawled into a ball on his couch, afraid to sleep in his own bed when he knew that there was no one there to share it with him.

But wallowing wasn't helping. The sting of her rejection only seemed to intensify in his newly empty existence. He was alone. No family, no friends, no Rory. She was the one thing that was supposed to make giving everything else up okay. As long as he had her, nothing could hurt him. Without her, every breath of air felt like swallowing a mouth full of wasps.

Then, after a few weeks of this half existence, he decided he'd had enough. He had paid dearly for breaking his lease on the house, but he would have given everything he owned to be rid of the home that was haunted by the memories of a girl who had never set foot in it. He moved to a small one bedroom apartment in the city. He started leaving work at a reasonable hour, after which he found himself here. Sure, he had come to the conclusion that he was going to embrace all of the possibilities his new life held; he had decided he was going to start a life in California—a real, enjoyable life—but he was still working out the logistics and this café seemed as good a place as any to do that. They had good food and they were located in a diverse area of the city where he could examine as many people and lifestyles as he could find.

Logan made note of a man walking by with his long blond hair tied back in a pony tail. He wore board shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops and he was extremely tan. Perhaps Logan would take up surfing. There were a lot of young people to be found on the beach; maybe he would make some new friends.

He took a sip of his tea—coffee reminded him too much of her—and leaned back in his chair to contemplate the possibilities. Surfing was exciting and athletic, and very California. He could definitely see himself on a board. Maybe this weekend he'd give it a try. What did he have to lose? Besides, Rory would probably hate it. He could get eaten by a shark.

The sun was starting to set, so Logan waved to the waitress, indicating she should bring the check over. As he started packing things into his suitcase, his cell phone rang. It was probably work, or maybe his sister, Honor. Those were the only calls he had received since he'd relocated to the west coast. He grabbed for the vibrating device and flipped it open.

"Logan Huntzberger," he greeted. There was silence on the other end. "Hello?" The silence continued for a few more seconds and he was just about to hang up before the caller finally spoke.

"Logan," the hoarse voice whispered. "It's me."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN- yeah, I know this story line has been done before, but I felt like doing it my way. Here's chapter 2.**

* * *

She couldn't breath. She couldn't breath and this time she couldn't blame it on the overly saturated air. No—this time it was definitely caused by the body wracking sobs that consumed her. She was curled into the fetal position on the bathroom floor where she had collapsed, no longer able to support her weight with her own legs; not after she had seen what the little plastic strips had to show her.

The tears were overwhelming. She wasn't even sure why she was crying, other than the obvious: she was pregnant and the father of her child had left her. But more precisely? Were they tears of sadness? Relief? Joy? Fear? Was this good news or bad? She had every reason to make that call now—once her body stopped convulsing enough to be able to use the phone clenched tightly in her small, pale fist. She also had an entire life completely depending on her and no idea how to take care of it. What if she told Logan and he rejected her again? Would she be able to do it on her own? Would she be able to do it even half as well as her own mother had? She doubted it—Lorelai was always stronger than she was.

But she would have to find a way. She would have to find a way to tell him, and she would have to find a way to get through this—with or without him. But not quite yet. She would cry just a little bit longer, be weak just a little bit longer, before she had to pull herself together for the sake of her child. She pulled her knees in closer and let the sobs rock her back and forth.

As the bawling finally slowed to quiet sniveling, she became aware of the tingling sensation in her fingers which had remained clenched so tightly around her Sidekick they had begun to go numb. She loosened her grip a little, allowing the blood flow to return to her digits as she unpinned the arm from beneath her and brought the device in front of her face. It was time to make the call.

Her thumb caressed the face of the phone, pausing momentarily over the number "2." Speed dial "1" was reserved for voice mail. Once, long ago the second button had been unwaveringly Lorelai, but during the mother and daughter's falling out two summers previously, Logan had usurped her spot and Rory had never seen fit to change it back.

Two—there were a lot of twos in Rory's life. The two Lorelais. It was a twosome that had seemed unbreakable for so long in Rory's life, until she dropped out of school and she learned that even the Gilmore Girls weren't indissoluble. They had made up, but things were never quite as they had been—Lorelai's new setting at number "3" on Rory's phone just a small reminder of the relationship they had lost. Then there was her and Dean—her first boyfriend, and her second…and her fourth. They were the on again-off again twosome. They were stable and familiar—something she could always fall back on—until Dean got married to someone else and falling back into their old routine had ruined more lives than just theirs. There was her and Lane—the two Musketeers. Best friends forever and while that still hadn't changed in many respects, their lives had drifted so far apart it was difficult to remember that they would always be there for each other.

And then there was Logan. He restored her faith in the number two. He made her believe that two people really could endure anything. God knew their relationship had suffered enough drama, but they had survived it, growing closer and stronger through it all. But her faith had not prevailed. When he asked her to marry him, there was a tiny seed of doubt that forced her to put herself before their relationship. And so the doubt became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Her rejection had broken him, and he in turn broke them.

But there was a new twosome now. Her and her child. And suddenly, it didn't matter what the second member of the pair could do for her. It didn't matter if she could trust her other half, or if someone else would always be there for her. What mattered was what she could do for her child. What mattered was that she would always be there for her (or him) and that started with making this phone call. It started with the number "2."

It didn't matter how scared she was. It didn't matter how badly she wanted to put the call off just so that she could continue knowing she would eventually get to speak to him one more time. She needed to do this for her baby—for _their_ baby. She pressed the button and waited.

"Logan Huntzberger." Her breath caught in her through, the need for oxygen forgotten upon hearing his voice. She wasn't sure how long the following silence went on for as his greeting echoed in her ears. "Hello?"

She didn't want to speak. She didn't want to ruin this moment--this one moment where the three of them existed together for the first, and quite possibly the last time. But she had to. He would hang up in a moment and then she wasn't sure if she would have the courage to call again—not after he saw her name on the caller id.

"Logan," she croaked out, the first words out of her mouth since the torrent of tears were hoarse and raspy. "It's me."

* * *

"Rory?" There was no mistaking the gravelly voice on the other end of the line. A month. It had been one month since he had last heard the speaker, though in many ways it seemed like both yesterday and a life time ago. In many ways it was. He heard her in the dreams that haunted him every night. The words "I can't" slapping him--sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally--as his subconscious forced him to relive the worst day of his life over and over again. But he had been a different person then—a person she was responsible for creating. He had been a man who had finally gained independence from his pre-ordained destiny and finally learned to accept his dependence on another person. Now he was independent in every sense of the word. Independent and alone and starting his whole life from scratch.

And yet she could still manage to make his whole world implode with just one short sentence. She would probably always be able to turn everything upside down, inside out and backwards. He hated her for that. He hated her for the fact that he would never stop loving her.

Logan dropped his things back on the table without a second thought. "Rory, what's wrong?" She had been crying. He could also tell when she had just been laughing, sleeping, talking with her mother, writing…there was a distinct inflection to her voice that went with each activity although it didn't take his intimate knowledge of her to be able to tell there was something seriously wrong with her at the moment. What he _didn't _get was why she was calling him. He was sure after the way they had ended things he would never hear from her again. He figured it was the best way—for both of them. Cold turkey.

If she was upset she could have called her mother, or Lane, or maybe even Lucy and Olivia. Why was she calling him? "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Sick? Did somebody do something to you?" Why wasn't she answering him? Her silence was filling him with cold dread. He was officially panicked. "Rory, talk to me," he pleaded.

"I'm not hurt," she whispered. "At least not physically," she added, the words just barely audible. He felt himself relax slightly. At least she wasn't in a hospital or laying bleeding somewhere on the side of a deserted road.

"Did something happen between you and Lorelai?" Maybe that's why she couldn't talk to her mother. Maybe the problem was _with _her mother. Another wave of panic hit—maybe the problem was with someone else. What if someone else was hurt? "Richard—his heart?"

"Grandpa's heart is fine." But hers wasn't. The undertones of her last statement were unmistakable.

"Rory, please, you have to tell me what's wrong," he pleaded.

"I…I miss you, Logan."

"Ace," he breathed out automatically, feeling the familiar swell of love and loneliness and hope that he used to feel every time he would call her from London. He cringed at his use of her nickname and at the unwelcome bombardment of emotion. What was she doing to him? He was trying to move on with his life and here she was, butting back in, turning the dull ache of their split into something freshly painful. For a moment it actually felt like their separation was only a physical one—but it wasn't. He couldn't let her do this to him. "No!" He slammed his fist down on the table. "No, you don't get to do this, Rory. You don't just get to call me up sounding like you've just been told you've got six months to live and then tell me you _miss_ me. You can't be serious."

"Logan," she tried to interrupt, her voice--just as fragile as before--hardly able to get through to him.

"Listen, I'm sorry if everything in Rory-land isn't as perfect as it always is, but you're not the only one whose life didn't turn out the way they expected it to. I wanted to _marry_ you, Rory. I wanted to start a life and a family with you. And you said 'no.' _You_ made that decision and now _I'm_ trying to live with your choice the only way I can. The least you could do is leave me the hell alone."

"Logan, please." The crying had started again and he tried to push away the overwhelming sense of guilt. No matter how angry he was, he still loved her and the thought of bringing her to tears tore him up inside.

"I have to go," he replied, steeling off his voice. He stood up, preparing to end the conversation as well as leave the café.

"No, wait!" she cried out. He sighed in frustration, pulling out a few bills to cover the check and let her continue. "I have to tell you something."

"Then tell me already." His patience was wearing thin. He wanted this over with so he could go on with trying to get over her.

"I can't."

"What?" His entire face scrunched up in confusion. "That makes absolutely no sense."

"I mean I can't…I can't tell you on the phone."

_Shit_. He sat back down in the chair again. That could only mean…

"I'm going to be in Sacramento in a couple of weeks on business. I know it's not exactly San Francisco, but it's only an hour or so away. Maybe we could…"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Rory. Just tell me what you have to say." He had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy to get out of this. Rory Gilmore could be persistent when she wanted something.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I know I made some bad decisions about us—we both did," she clarified, refusing to accept all the blame for the dissolution of their relationship. "But I need you to do this for me, please. If you never want to see me again after that, I'll have to accept that, but I need to talk to you. _Please._"

"No, Rory. I'm sorry, it's just—it's too hard. You have to understand. Just hearing your voice right now…I love you, Rory. Maybe I always will. But if there's even the slightest chance that I can get over you…I can't see you."

"Just think about it, please," she tried again. "You need to hear this. I really think you'll regret it someday if you don't." There was a familiar click and the phone went dead.

* * *

"_I really think you'll regret it someday it you don't"_ The end of their phone conversation played over and over again in his head. What the hell was her problem? Who called their ex up out of the blue, scared the shit out of him, asked for a meeting, and then ended the goddamn conversation like that? It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be getting over her—that was the point. How was he supposed to get over her if she left him with stupid cryptic messages? How was he supposed to get her off of his mind?

He wasn't—that was _her_ point. She was a reporter, just like he once was. She knew he wouldn't be able to let something like that go. He minimized the Excel Spreadsheet--summarizing the companies May subscription distributions--and revealed the contributor bio on Hugo's webzine that was open on the window underneath it. He knew Hugo and Rory would hit it off when he introduced them at that business party. Now she was apparently working for him, reporting on Barack Obama's presidential campaign. It explained why she would be in Sacramento on business in a couple of weeks—actually in 2 weeks, 3 days and 1 ½ hours. That was when Senator Obama would be holding a rally outside of Sacramento City Hall.

He knew it was a bad idea to go. Seeing Rory again would only be a setback. He highly doubted she had reconsidered her position on marriage, and to be honest, he _had._ He had given Rory everything he had. He had put her first in every decision he made. Logan had honestly believed that San Francisco and this job would have been the best thing for them as a couple as well as for himself, but if she had said she wanted to marry him but that she couldn't move, he would have given it all up without question. She wasn't able to do the same for him. She wasn't able to put their relationship before her own desires and goals. He wanted her to have everything she wanted, but if what she wanted was her 'wide open future' no matter the cost, then maybe she wasn't the woman he thought she was. The woman he fell in love with was one who was driven, but who still put her loved ones above all else. She was a woman who taught him to do the same. If they could be on such different pages, maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

Still, it was becoming increasingly clear that he had no choice _but_ to go see her in Sacramento. He didn't know if what she had to say was something he would really "regret" not hearing, but he _did_ know that he would always wonder. If going to see Rory was a setback in getting over her, not going would ensure he never did.

With a sigh, he picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number, his fingers working off of muscle memory. The line rang five times before he heard her voice. "You've reached Rory Gilmore. I can't come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Have a great day."

He inhaled sharply as he waited for the beep, relieved to have gotten the voicemail. "Look, I'm told there's a pretty decent café a few blocks from City Hall. The Mudd Puddle. I'll meet you there Tuesday at 10, before the rally. And Rory…congratulations on the job. It's just what you always wanted."


	3. Chapter 3

The zipper was broken—it had to be. It was the only explanation for her inability to properly close her skirt. She tugged futilely at the tiny, metal pulley a couple more times before finally giving in and slipping the skirt back off her legs.

How had this happened? She was barely eight weeks along—she couldn't possibly have outgrown her clothes already. She picked the skirt up off the floor and tried the zipper one more time. It slid effortlessly up and down. With a sigh she tossed the traitorous article of clothing aside.

That had been the perfect skirt. It was short enough to draw attention to her long, lean legs while still being appropriately long for work. It somehow managed to hug her behind in a way that made her ass look, well, not quite J-Lo-esque, but still, pretty damn good, and it had a couple of pleats in the front that would make her stomach look flatter than it actually was. It was the perfect skirt for distracting Logan from her growing baby bump, but it didn't fit because of her damn baby bump. Irony was not Rory Gilmore's friend that night. Now what was she supposed to wear to tell the ex she hadn't seen in two months that he was going to be a father?

She immediately excluded pants—it was too hot, and besides, Logan loved her legs. She skimmed through her remaining skirts—too short, too long, winter fabric—nothing worked, then again, nothing had an elastic waist band either and she would probably need that to get her fat ass into any of her clothes. After all, she had spent the last three days sitting on the bus in sweat pants and stuffing her face with Doritos and celery sticks (pregnancy cravings were a strange phenomenon). She rifled through her suitcase trying to figure out a way to turn her wardrobe of too small, wrinkled, stow away items into the perfect outfit. Tomorrow was going to be the most important day of her life—she couldn't be expected to show up in the pajama pants and tank top she was currently wearing.

She had just about emptied her entire suitcase when her eyes finally landed on the lavender sundress lain out on the bottom of the bag. It wasn't as professional as she liked and she did have to go to work after, but perhaps if she paired it with her white, tailored jacket… She unfolded the dress and slipped out of her PJs, so she could pull the outfit over her head. She had to tug harder than usual to get the waist over her chest. Damn it, even her boobs were starting to grow. She smoothed the fabric down and looked in the mirror. There was no _way_ Logan wasn't going to notice _that_ change with her in this dress. Her bust was ready to pop right out. Not that it mattered; she was out of wardrobe choices. It was this dress, or she'd be going to meet Logan in her robe.

She threw on the jacket and took another look in the mirror, carefully appraising her reflection. "Well, what do you think, kiddo?" she asked, laying her hand on her belly. "This is what we're going to meet Daddy in." She paused for a moment, as though waiting for a response before continuing. "It's okay to be nervous, you know. Your mom is pretty damn, I mean darn," she quickly corrected, "nervous, too." She slipped the jacket back off and laid it out carefully on the dresser.

"He's going to love you, though," she promised, continuing the conversation with her unborn child. It was something she'd been doing a lot of lately, in the few moments of privacy she got every night when her roommate was out running. Who else could she talk to, after all? No one else even knew about the baby's existence and Rory was determined that Logan would be the first. She had almost picked up the phone and dialed her mother's number a zillion times over the past two weeks, but she knew Logan deserved to know before anyone else—no matter what had happened between the two of them. Besides, she knew Lorelai would have some very definitive opinions on the matter. Normally, Lorelai's opinions meant the world to Rory, but perhaps that was the problem. The choices she had to make needed to be made alone—or hopefully by her and Logan alone—without her mother's interference.

Rory made her way towards the bathroom, walking over to the shower and turning the water on full blast to let it heat up. "No matter what happens, you need to know that." She assured her baby. "I can't promise that everything is going to go well tomorrow, but if it doesn't, it's not your fault." She slipped out of her dress and hung it on the door so that the steam would smooth the wrinkles the dress had accumulated after months of being cramped inside her suitcase. "You know that Mommy and Daddy didn't end so well. If he gets angry, just remember that he's angry at me, not you."

The warm water immersed her as she stepped into the spray of the shower. Rory leaned back against the cool tile and let the water assault her body, making her skin tingle from head to toe. "God this feels good," she moaned. "It's the little things in life, kid—the hot showers and the first sips of coffee in the morning—that make life almost bearable when it seems like everything is falling apart around you. Because there will be those days."

She squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her hands and lathered it into her hair, then rinsed it out as she continued to speak. "Hopefully, you won't fall into mine and grandma's footsteps and wind up pregnant and alone, but there will be other things that make you want to crawl into a hole and hide away for a hundred years." If she could burrow to China she'd be half way there by now, but it wasn't an option. If it were just her, she'd keep up her tried and true method of running from all of her problems, but she had a child to think about, now. She'd do anything for her kid—even brave the ex-boyfriend she was still madly in love with. Even risk losing all hope of ever getting a happily ever after with him. "But as hard as it is, you have to keep on going. Sure, I wish I could hide my head in the sand and put off confronting your dad for the next century, but I can't." She pressed her eyes shut, trying to forget how easy it would be to just not show up at that café in the morning. "I can't," she reminded herself—a whisper.

"God, baby," she sniffled back some tears, falling back against the wall of the shower and letting her body sink to the floor. "I don't know if I can do this. What if he's mad? What if he hates me? What if after this I'm still all alone? How will I take care of you? I can barely feed myself on what I make and I'll probably have to quit my job, anyway—I can't keep traveling like this once you're here. And god, it's not just the money, it's everything. I'm not ready for this. I love you so much, but I'm just not ready. I mean, there's a reason I said 'no' to your dad, and I think by now you've figured out that it's not because I don't love him. God, I love him so much, but marriage is a big deal. It was just way too scary to think about taking that kind of step when all these other big scary things were happening."

Rory brought her hands up to push the wet hair off her face then buried her head into them, pressing her fingers into her eyes to try and still the tears. This was probably the five thousandth breakdown she'd had in the last two weeks—she couldn't cry anymore. Tomorrow Logan would know, and he would make his decision. He would either be a part of their lives or not, it was up to him and agonizing over it wouldn't help. She'd find a way to take care of her baby either way. If Lorelai could do it at sixteen without even a high school degree, then Rory could do it at twenty-two with a BA under her belt. She wiped the last tears from her eyes with a sudden renewed sense of determination and finished her shower.

* * *

It was a pretty typical coffee house. A row of floor to ceiling windows covered the front of the building with small, round tables strategically placed by each other for optimal people-watching potential. Along the back of the large room was the coffee bar—viewing case for pastries, a cash register, and some bar stools for the patrons to sit at. A large blackboard ran along the wall behind the bar, listing the beverages offered. An eclectic assortment of chandelier lighting illuminated the shop and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air.

Rory was sitting at a table towards the back, left corner of the room, facing the side wall. She was staring unblinkingly at her newspaper, oblivious to the world around her, though Logan very much doubted she was actually reading. He knew her well enough to know that she had probably arrived at least a half an hour early and painstakingly searched out the perfect table. She had probably had a prolonged debate with herself about which seat she should take—the one facing the entrance so she would see him and be prepared when he showed up, or the one facing away from the entrance so she didn't spend every other second glancing up at the door awaiting his arrival—before giving in to compromise and taking the seat facing the wall. She would have slowly worked herself up over the next ten to fifteen minutes before going into avoidance mode and burying her head in the pages in front of her.

He stared for a few moments, admiring the view. No matter how hurt and angry he was at the way things had ended between them, he was still very much in love with Rory and seeing her for the first time in months had his heart—and his hormones—in overdrive. She was gorgeous. She was clad in a purple dress which probably fell to just below her knees when she was standing, but she had not been careful sitting down and the skirt had bunched up, leaving her legs bare from mid-thigh down. She was sitting crossed legged, with her body half turned so that her legs were to the side rather then hidden away under the table in front of her. There was a white jacket hanging over the back of her chair so that her shoulders were covered by only the thin, cotton spaghetti-straps of the dress. Her hair was down, but she had pushed it all over one shoulder, probably to allow the breeze a chance to reach her back which was shiny with a hint of sweat from the hot summer air that filtered into the building every time someone opened the door.

She looked just like he remembered her, and yet there was something different about her. The angles of her face were more pronounced as though she'd lost weight but her body was fuller, rounder. He remembered that dress on her and the last time he'd seen it, it hadn't been quite so form fitting—not that he was complaining, he was a fan of the curves.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He'd allowed himself a moment of weakness to covet her, but now he had to be strong. He was going to actually have to approach her, and he needed his defenses in place if he was going to get through this meeting and get on with his life. He really wasn't sure what she had to tell him—yeah he had ideas, but none of them seemed like real possibilities—but whatever it was, he wasn't going to let himself get pulled in by her again. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves before making his way over to her.

"Rory," he greeted, cold, formal.

"Logan," her head popped up, taken by surprise. She had clearly been caught up in her own thoughts. "Umm, hi," she chirped by way of nervous greeting.

"Can I?" he motioned to the chair sitting across from hers, trying to avoid looking her in the eye. She was beautiful, radiant.

"Oh, yeah…I mean, of course…please," she motioned like an idiot, and Logan had to work to keep the smirk off his face. She was cute when she was nervous, but then again, she was always cute and he couldn't let himself get distracted.

He took a seat. "Thanks."

"I umm, I ordered already. I hope you don't mind, I just…I have to be to work soon and I didn't know…" she trailed off, but he knew what she was going to say. She didn't know if he was going to show. Truthfully, he'd given that option sincere consideration.

Logan shrugged in reply. "This isn't a date—no rule that says we have to eat together."

"Oh, right, I just…" Rory diverted her eyes away from him in embarrassment and speared a piece of her fruit salad—mango. This caught his attention and he stared for a moment at the dish in front of Rory. Fruit salad? Where was the cherry Danish or the croissant smothered in butter? Rory was never a fruit salad girl. He was about to question her choice of breakfast food but stopped himself short. He'd just very clearly set the boundaries of this little tête-à-tête, what she ate was none of his business.

The waitress made her way over to the table and introduced herself. "I'm Samantha, I'll be your server today. Are you ready to order?"

Logan's stomach contracted uncomfortably at the thought of food, but he ordered anyway. He had to act normal—he couldn't let Rory see how she affected him. "I'll have what the lady is having." He motioned to Rory's plate.

The waitress nodded in understanding, jotting the order onto her notepad before leaving the couple alone again.

"So, umm, how are you?"

Logan's eyes narrowed into slits at her question. They weren't here to catch up like old friends. He took a deep breath and answered anyway, keeping his voice even, detached. "Not bad. Business is good. I'm learning to surf."

He saw Rory's face contort with displeasure at the news of his newest hobby. It was the same look she'd had when he told her he was getting his pilot's license. His face remained expressionless but he had to admit that he was pleased with her response. It felt good to know there was someone who worried about him and there was even a part of him that was glad she was upset. It was vengeful, he knew, but he was only human.

"Oh, well that's nice," she said through her obviously fake smile.

"What did you want to tell me?" he finally asked after a few moments of silence. He wasn't here to chat about the weather.

Rory blushed in discomfort, gnawing nervously at her bottom lip. She uncrossed her legs, and re-crossed them in the other direction then smoothed her hand over her lap.

Logan felt strangely uncomfortable with the movement. It was probably just his imagination, but her hand seemed to hover over her stomach just a fraction of a second too long. He let his eyes travel up her body and they paused momentarily over her ample cleavage—was she wearing a push-up bra—before letting his eyes meet hers. "Rory?"

Rory was saved momentarily from answering as Samantha returned with Logan's plate of fruit. "Here you go, sir," she said as she flipped his coffee cup over and began to pour the heated beverage.

Logan was still staring at Rory, but his peripheral vision caught a flash of orange and he slowly turned his head towards the waitress. Weren't the coffee pots with the orange spouts usually reserved for…"Is that decaf?"

"Yes, sir."

"No," he growled suddenly, pushing his chair back and standing up, letting his hands pound angrily on the table.

"I'm sorry, sir," the waitress quickly apologized. "You asked for what she was having and…"

"God, I'm such and idiot." He threw his head back in exasperation.

"I could get you some regular," the waitress added, backing slowly away from the table.

"You just _had_ to see me in person. You're eating healthy, you're tits are fucking huge, and now you're drinking decaf? How fucking dense can I be?" How could he not have known? Sure, the possibility had crossed his mind in the last two weeks, but he had never given it serious consideration—they'd always been careful. Birth control was supposed to be over ninety-five percent effective and he knew for a fact that she was completely anal about taking her pill. What were the chances that not only would they be in that other five percent, but that after three years of sex, they would be in that five percent _now._

"Logan," she said calmly, reaching her hand out to cover his.

"Oh don't 'Logan' me," he said, pulling his hand away from hers. "You don't get to do this, Rory."

"I'm sorry—_get _to?"

"You're the one who said 'no', not me. I wanted this. God, _all_ I wanted was a family with you and you said 'no.'"

"I didn't plan for this, Logan."

"And god forbid something interfere with your plan, even if your plan is to not have any plan."

"That's not fair."

"Oh, and this is? What the hell do you want from me Rory—another proposal? Because I'll be damned before I'm stupid enough to do _that_ again."

"I don't _want_ anything from you. I just thought you deserved to know. It's not like I expected anything—or you know what? Maybe I did. I _expected_ you to act like an ass. It's what you do. Every time things get hard, you act like an ass." She put her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up to mimic his pose and look him in the eye. "And you wonder why I said 'no?' Being married is for adults, Logan, and so is raising a child. But you—you're still some eighteen year old kid when it comes to what really matters. If you can't grow up and take responsibility how the hell did you expect to have a family?"

"And you're still as self centered as ever—news flash, Rory, raising a baby means actually putting someone else before yourself, before your career, and your wide-open future..."

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't realize how hard this is going to be? Single Mom, struggling to make ends meet? I know—I've lived it. But I don't have a choice here. Like it or not, I'm pregnant and I am going to have this baby."

Logan stood there, seething in anger, his entire body shaking with fury. How dare she come bursting back into his life like this, offering him nothing and everything at the same time? Two months ago, he'd been dreaming about this—a pregnant Rory. Only they were in a big yard and he was throwing a frisbee to a golden retriever while she sat under that goddamn avocado tree with her laptop precariously balancing on her swollen stomach and they were laughing and happy, not fighting and angry. What would happen now? He would have to see her, talk with her, be near her all the time and never get to _be_ with her? They would have a child together, but no relationship of their own? Would he have the kid one weekend out of every month and one month out of the summer? And what would Rory be doing on that one free weekend a month? Would she be out with some other guy? It would never work. He would kill himself if he had to be on the sidelines of her life like that—always watching, never participating.

"I can't do this." He pushed himself upright off the table and turned towards the door.

"Umm, did you still want that regular?" Logan pushed past the waitress and disappeared down the street.


	4. Chapter 4

Wet sand oozed between Logan's toes as he dug his feet further into the ground. His Dockers were rolled up to his knees and a lukewarm breeze drifted off the Bay, cooling against the beads of sweat that glistened on his skin. Towers of orange iron stretched out before him, framing the picturesque landscape beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Baker's Beach had become one of his favorite spots since he'd moved to San Francisco. It was a slice from every aspect of life. There were little old ladies, and nude sun bathers in the same spot. There were couples and singles, dogs frolicking in the water. And there were kids—lots and lots of kids building sand castles, flying kites and having splash fights with one another.

There was one kid in particular that Logan couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of. He appeared to be about two, but Logan had never been very good at guessing children's ages. He had shaggy blonde hair and a Band-Aid on his knee. He was with a pretty, brunette woman in her late twenties who was currently helping him fill pails with sand. It was like looking at a picture of his future and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't turn away. They looked happy—wonderfully, breathtakingly happy. Of course Logan noticed that there was no potential father around. Were they happy despite the fact that he wasn't in the picture? Or was he just at work, getting through the day so that he could join his family at home and read his son a captivating rendition of The Cat in the Hat.

He hoped it was the latter even though he knew that scenario wasn't in the cards for him. He would never be a part of that happy, little family unit. At best, his kid would spend a day at the beach with his Mom and then get sent on an airplane across the country to hear his Dad read him that story. Would he just be better off with no father at all? Logan had spent the entire drive from Sacramento to San Francisco trying to convince himself of just that, but a part of him knew he was just rationalizing. The truth was, the one thing that had gotten him through the past two months since the break-up was avoiding any and all reminders of Rory—and by convincing himself he hated her when the avoidance method failed. This baby changed all of that. Letting this baby into his life would mean letting Rory back in, at least a little, and he couldn't imagine going back to a life with Rory in it. It was just too painful.

So what did he do? The right thing, or the easy thing? It was moments like these when he wished he could be the old Logan. The self-absorbed, irresponsible playboy he was BR—before Rory. So, in a desperate attempt to hear what he wanted to hear, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

"The voicemail box you are trying to reach is full. Please hang up and try your call again," The automated voice rang in his ears. Logan shook his head exasperatedly. Some things never changed. He disconnected the call and tried again, hitting a different number.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the prodigal son. And here I was thinking you'd been eaten by a shark or something," the voice on the other end of the line chuckled.

"Your concern overwhelms me," Logan replied drolly.

"Hey, you're the one who moved across the country and stopped calling everyone, don't get snippy with me."

"Yeah, sorry, Colin, I guess my phone must have accidentally deleted all those missed calls from you." Logan leaned back, propping his elbows in the sand

"Did you call just to pick a fight or was there an actual reason—because Gretchen is only here in the Hamptons for a few days and…"

"You're in the Hamptons?" Logan rolled his eyes. Colin was supposed to be working as a paralegal in his father's law firm for the summer.

"Finn's up from Australia and I start school in a few weeks," Colin defended.

"By the way, tell that idiot to empty his voicebox."

"You called Finn before me? I'm wounded, Logan."

"Yeah, well, I was actually looking for someone to give me _bad_ advice. Finn was the first to pop into my head but when I couldn't get a hold of him, I immediately thought of you."

"Umm, thanks?" Colin questioned.

"Hey, Mate, Gretchen's looking for you, but if you're done with her, I'd be happy to entertain…" Finn's voice echoed in the background of the call.

"I'm on the phone with Logan. Keep your hands off Gretchen, you fucking horn-dog. I'll be back in a few."

"Logan, hmm, do I know a Logan?" Finn questioned. "Excuse me, do I know you?" His voice was closer this time and Logan knew he'd taken Colin's cell. "Because I used to have a mate named Logan but he got too big for his britches and forgot all about the little people."

"And _you're_ the little people." Logan chuckled.

"Hell no, there's nothing little about Finn."

"Give it back, dumb ass." Logan imagined Colin grabbing the phone back from Finn, and probably hitting him upside the head while he was at it.

"Now what did you need bad advice about?"

"Hey! I'm a wonderful advice giver." Finn sounded wounded. Apparently Logan was on speaker phone with both of them now.

Logan let out a sigh, figuring it was best to just get it over with. "I saw Rory."

"Reporter Girl?" Finn asked with glee. "How is the lovely Shiela?"

"Pregnant." There was silence on the line for a moment.

"Is it yours?' Colin finally asked.

"What kind of dumb ass question is that?' Logan replied defensively.

"Hey, it's valid. You guys have been broken up for a while."

"Two months."

"Sure. Like you haven't been with anyone since then?" Finn piped in with a 'you sly dog' tone to his voice.

"Uhh…No."

"Oh?" Finn replied mystified. "Really?"

"Really." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Hmm…I didn't know it was possible to go that long without." Logan groaned in exasperation. What had he been thinking calling Colin and Finn for advice? Even bad advice?

"So what did you do when she told you?" Colin asked, getting the conversation back on track.

Logan let out a deep sigh. "I freaked out," he admitted. "I freaked and I told her I couldn't do it and I walked away."

"Thank _God_!" Finn exclaimed.

"Excuse me?"

"You really dodged a bullet there, Mate."

"Finn!" Colin scolded

"Please, Logan Huntzberger with a baby? Can you just see him changing diapers and wheeling a stroller around? It'd totally cramp his style."

"I don't really think that's the point."

"Of course it's the point. How is he supposed to get himself any action if he's strapped down with a kid? He's totally off his game as it is already. You heard him. He hasn't slept with anyone in two months, and he hasn't slept with anyone but Rory in _years_."

Logan collapsed back into the sand. It was just like Finn to be worried about how Logan was going to get laid. But isn't that why he called Finn in the first place? To hear someone tell him he'd done the right thing by walking away—even if he knew it was a lie?

"No, I think the point is that Logan would be a horrible father," Colin interjected.

"Hey!" Logan sat straight back up again. Had Colin really just said that?

"I mean, just look at the example he's had. Besides, what is he supposed to do? Give up his new career and come flying back here just to play Daddy? He's just getting his life settled; he doesn't have time for a baby. Being a high powered career man is in his blood. Family's gotta come second."

Logan rubbed his eyes wearily. "Alright already, I get the point. Enough with the reverse psychology."

"Who said anything about reverse, Mate," Finn chuckled.

"I appreciate all of your eloquent advice, but I'm hanging up now."

"Hey, Logan?" Colin interrupted.

"Yeah?" He asked with a sigh.

"Don't be a stranger. I know it hasn't seemed it lately, but we're here to help."

"Thanks Colin," Logan replied with the first genuine smile he'd had all day.

"Anytime."

* * *

The coarse material of the wool bed spread chaffed uncomfortably and Rory shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. Her roommate had left for her run and Rory was finally free to get as emotional as she wanted. She deserved a good cry after the way her day had gone. Logan had barely even let her say the words before he was gone in a puff of smoke. The roadrunner couldn't have made a quicker dash for it—and Rory was left feeling like an Acme anvil had been dropped on her head.

She let out a deep breath, willing the tears to come, but they didn't. Perhaps she needed some weepy music to help her release her emotions. She reached for her laptop on the desk and clicked on her I-Tunes icon, pulling up the special "wallow" play list she had concocted after the break-up a few months before. Still, despite the Sara McLachlan, the tears didn't come. With a sigh of frustration she collapsed back on the stack of pillows behind her and placed her hands gently on her stomach.

"Well kid—super day, huh? Your Dad was kind of an ass. Not that I'm going to be one of those jilted parents that talks bad to their kid about the other parent. Your Dad's not a bad guy—really. Except that right now I kind of need to hate him and there's no one else I can talk to about it, so try not to hold this against me when you get older and wind up in therapy because you had an identity crisis, stole a yacht with your boyfriend and dropped out of school…"

Rory's ramblings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Damn it, Cindy, what'd you forget this time?" she mumbled, pulling herself up off the bed and clomping over to the door to let, who she presumed to be her roommate, in. She pulled it open a crack and instantly she was attempting to close it again. He was faster than her though, and he got a foot in the threshold to prevent the door from slamming in his face.

"We need to talk," Logan insisted.

"I heard you loud and clear this morning, Logan"

"I was an ass this morning. I think we can both agree on that. But given the circumstances perhaps you could cut me a little slack."

"Or perhaps I couldn't." Rory crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, but kept her foot jammed behind the door so he couldn't get in.

"Ace," he whined. She presumed he thought the use of her nickname would soften her, but instead it just pissed her off. Did he think she was stupid? Did he think she wouldn't know he was trying to manipulate her?

"Don't you dare call me that," she hissed. "I'm not your 'Ace' anymore. You've made that perfectly clear."

"Rory," he tried again. "I'm sorry, okay, will you just let me in."

"No."

"Fine." He leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can slam this door on me, but I'm not going anywhere. I'll just stand here and wait for you to come out. And if I get bored waiting, maybe I'll just start a conversation with some nice person as they walk by on the way to their room. Hey don't you work with most of the people staying here?"

"You wouldn't." He knew the last thing she would want was for her coworkers to know she was pregnant with the grandson of one of the biggest newspaper magnates in the world. It would be a scandal of massive proportions.

"I might." He shrugged. "That curly haired, brunette with the glasses seems nice," he continued, pointing down the walkway in front of the motel. "I wonder if she works for Dad. Maybe I should ask her."

Rory glanced in the direction Logan was pointing and groaned, opening the door wide, yanking Logan in by his wrist and slamming the door shut behind him. "Fine, you win, are you happy."

"No," he admitted with a shake of his head.

Rory's anger was suddenly zapped by his sincerity and she cast her gaze to the floor, biting her lip shyly. "Me either," she admitted.

"I'm so sorry, Rory. I totally freaked out this morning. I acted like an ass."

"Yeah" she admitted looking up. "You did." She tried to keep a stern face but she could feel the hint of a smile pulling at her lips. He had come back. Logan was here and he was threatening to camp out outside her motel room and he was apologizing. Maybe everything could turn out okay after all.

"I want to be a part of this baby's life. I _need_ to be."

"Are you sure?" she asked. She couldn't let him do this if he wasn't sure. It wouldn't be fair to the baby if he flitted in and out of their lives like her father had done, and to be honest, she wasn't sure _she_ could handle it. Her heart was still pretty broken as it was.

"Hey, if I say I can do this, I can do this," he smirked at her.

"I've heard that line before, Huntzberger." She finally let the smile break through.

"And I was an _excellent_ boyfriend, if I do say so myself."

"Ehhh," she agreed half-heartedly. "Some days."

"Hey!" Logan pouted.

She cocked her head appraisingly before conceding. "Most days," she amended with a smile.

"I loved you, Rory Gilmore. I still do, I probably always will," he said softly, inching closer and closer to his ex-girlfriend. "I'm going to love this baby just as much," he insisted, placing his hand over her stomach. If he didn't know her so intimately the slight convex to her stomach would have been unnoticeable, but he could feel the changes. "I won't be my father...or yours. I'm going to be here."

"I know," she whispered casting her eyes down to where he was touching her for the first time in months. She never wanted him to take his hand away again. She looked back up again, her eyes meeting his, holding his gaze for a moment. Then suddenly she was kissing him. Needy. Desperate. Teeth clashing, tongues battling. Her arms were around his neck and his were around her waste, pulling her closer to him.

She wasn't sure who led them back to the bed but suddenly her knees were buckling and he was cushioning her descent onto the mattress; his body hovering over hers, the warm aura of his sandalwood and cinnamon cologne assaulting her senses. She was thousands of miles from Connecticut but for the first time in months, there in that cheap motel, she felt home.

His hands push the thin cotton fabric of her tank top up, kneading helplessly at her flesh, familiarizing himself with a body he knew like the back of his hand and yet was completely different. She moaned gratefully as his hands cupped the breasts that had once fit perfectly in his grasp, but which now overflowed from his fingers. She arched her back and began clawing at his own shirt, desperate to rid him of it.

"I love you," she hissed and immediately Logan stilled, his entire torso tensing uncomfortably. He rolled off of her landing on his back on the bed.

"Fuck!" he grunted. He brought his hands to rub wearily at his eyes. "Fuck!" he replied again, pounding the mattress with his first. He looked over at Rory, who was furiously trying to straighten her tank top, her eyes filled with tears. "Rory…"

"Don't!" she replied in an unsteady voice, holding her hand up to stop him from whatever he was about to say. She squeezed her eyes shut to still the tears that were threatening to fall. "Did you even mean anything you said?"

"I meant _all_ of it," he insisted, sitting up to meet her eye.

"You said you _loved_ me!" she cried.

"I _do_!"

"I thought…I thought…" She sniffled.

"That everything was fixed?" he asked. She nodded her head weakly.

"It's not that easy, Rory," he replied, pulling his shirt back on.

"But why not? We still love each other and obviously I have to settle down now. I can move out here and we can get married and have the baby and everything can be the way it's supposed to be."

Logan scoffed at her naivety. "I'm not going to be your back-up plan, Rory."

"You're _not!_"

"Yes, I am. You only want a life with me now because of this baby."

"I _always_ wanted a life with you. You're the one who walked away."

"You wanted a life that I was a part of, yeah, but you didn't want a life _with_ me. It's not the same thing. And if circumstances were different, you'd be sad that we were broken up and you'd grieve the loss of our relationship, but you wouldn't be hating yourself for making the wrong decision and going out of your way to fix things. You'd move on."

"You don't know that."

"I know _you_."

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't have proposed to me in a room full of my grandparent's friends," she snapped angrily, getting up from the bed and turning her back to him so he couldn't see the tears that had finally left her eyes and started slipping down her cheeks.

"You're right," he conceded. "It was a stupid way to ask you." She felt his hand on her shoulder. "But what's done is done, and we can't take it back. What ever you decide for this baby, I will do everything in my power to be there every step of the way. But you and me," he sighed wearily, "we're not okay."


End file.
